The long-as-hell championship title drought is a painful, sacred thing. The pain is understandable of course, generated as it is by years and years of frustration, disappointment and oh-so-close emotion. The second part, the sacredness, is admittedly more mysterious. This is not, after all, some holy covenant — it’s just sports.
This dismissive sentiment overlooks the very real history and tradition (both good and bad, mind you) passed down over the years. Here we find families and friends coming together to celebrate and commiserate, lives moving into and out of focus, children being born while an earlier generation passes away.